The Grave
by SoleFlowing
Summary: He arrived on the same date, at the same time, a bouquet of pink gerbera daisies clutched in his hand. And it continued this way every year, though why he was there he didn't know. My first Dramione fic.


**I own none of the characters. J.K owns them all.**

He arrived on the same date, at the same time, a bouquet of pink gerbera daisies clutched in his hand. And it continued this way every year.

His wife didn't know where he went on this day every year, simply accepted it like she does with everything he does. Lies back and allows him to walk all over her like the perfect pureblood wife. How different the two of them were. At first he tried to remain stoic on his visits, Malfoys don't show emotion in public and they certainly don't cry. He didn't even know why he was doing this. She wouldn't have cared if he visited every year or not. She didn't care for him when she was alive; she was the one who left him.

She had come into his life like a whirlwind after the war, the pair were two utterly broken figures, their worlds shattered around them and all they wanted to do was to forget. Forget the pain, forget the sadness, forget the world. It was pure coincidence that they would bump into each other in Flourish and Blotts that day. But behind the dusty books and crooked shelves, the two saw something in each other that no one else had seen. And they had come crashing together in the back of the store, their lips joined and their hands together as they tried so hard to forget.

But it was Hermione who pursued the notion of the two together. As soon as the pair had broken apart and caught their breath, Draco had straightened himself out and walked steadfastly away from the brunette determined to never think nor see the woman again. Hermione had other plans. Months later, when the two were lying in bed together, his arms wrapped around the tiny figure next to him, their legs entwined, she would tell him she pursued him because he allowed her freedom when they were together. Which was why, Draco suddenly began to see Hermione everywhere, in his local café, in his regular bar and even in the muggle restaurant that he ate at every week.

She pursued him for weeks, always sitting one table across in the restaurant, joining him in the café and simply pulling out her book and reading whilst they sat in silence. Or sitting with him at the bar and drinking with him until they were both so drunk, the bartender had to call the Knight Bus for the two to go home. And Draco had resisted, granted, he never actually changed any of his regular haunts when he discovered she was going to be there. Looking back on it now, he decides it was a mixture of pride that made him stay and her. Yes, definitely her. Even if he was resisting her advances he couldn't deny he liked her company.

And he was doing fine. More than fine, he had successfully avoided any confrontations in which she could seduce him. That was until that fateful night in the bar. She was running late, normally she was here before he got there. But he knew she would turn up, so he ordered his own drink and on a whim and trying not to think too much into it, ordered her favourite drink too and seated himself in a booth so that he could see who walked through the door. He hadn't prepared himself for when she walked through the door this time. She was wearing a tight slinky black dress that fell to her knees and hugged her body perfectly. Her long brown hair had been curled gently as opposed to the bush that it usually was. And her lips, _oh god her lips,_ were painted in the most sultry red you could ever imagine. She walked slowly over to him, her heels clicking with every step and Draco decided he had had enough. He couldn't resist her any longer. Hermione hadn't even reached the table before Draco had stood up grabbed her by the hand and apparated them to his flat.

Before they had even landed properly in his flat, Draco had pushed her up against his wall, his lips crashing down on hers and it felt _so damn good._ As Draco's hands lifted her up and he felt her wrap her legs around him bringing their centres closer, Draco couldn't remember why he ignored and rejected this feeling for so long. Once it was over and they had fallen into a heap on the floor, their clothes half strewn across the floor and half on their bodies, they held each other closely until they fell into a deep sleep still wrapped around one another.

This continued for months, the pair slowly healing one another. And Draco couldn't remember ever being this happy. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed but Hermione made him do it everyday, and he loved her for it. Draco had officially fallen in love with the brunette and when he told her that he loved her, she had smiled beautifully, kissed him deeply and said the three words back to him before they moved to the bed and made love to one another.

But she had left him.

They were in a restaurant having dinner and she had been quiet. She had lost weight over the past few weeks but Draco had assumed it was the stress of work or her friends who still hadn't come to accept their relationship. So he had let it slide and was happy to eat in silence. Until Hermione looked up and said the one sentence that reversed all the healing she had done for him and turned him back into the broken man he was before he met her.

 _Draco I don't love you anymore, this cant carry on._

He had stared at her across the table as she fidgeted with her napkin. His heart slowly breaking with each passing second but he maintained his cool composure on the outside, simply nodded his head and continued eating. Hermione had watched him before standing up and walking out of the restaurant. Out of his life.

It wasn't until he got home that he allowed himself a moment to show his hurt and upset as he hurled his tumbler of firewhiskey against the wall, his other hand punching the picture frame of the two of them. Draco had cried that night, alone in his bed he had cried as he felt his heart, which she had once made whole again crumble and shatter once more. It wasn't until three weeks later when he picked up the Prophet that he felt the anger kick in as he stared down at the headline and at the picture below depicting her and that _Weasley prick_ holding hands and kissing. Then he felt anger. That was the night Draco ended up in the A&E of St. Mungos due to the sliced hand he gained from trashing his apartment.

But what made the whole ordeal worse was when she had died the next year. Draco didn't even know about it until he had to read it from the newspaper as he had his breakfast. And the anger he had, the resentment he held towards her suddenly disappeared from him as he stared at her picture on the front page and he forced himself not cry as he realised he would never see her again. His healer, his one true love had gone forever because of some muggle illness.

He didn't go to the funeral, truthfully at that point in his life he was too drunk to even remember what day it was nevermind when her funeral was. But most of all, he felt he didn't deserve to go to the funeral, to say goodbye to someone who didn't want him in her life anyway. So he had stayed away and read about it in the newspapers, read about how her precious boyfriend had been inconsolable as they lowered her body into the ground. How her parents had demanded she be buried in their local church in a muggle service because it was the church she had grown up with and one day wanted to get married in. Draco had stayed away from the funeral, but he couldn't help but read the Prophet everyday for information about the woman he had lost.

But because Draco didn't go to the funeral didn't mean he couldn't visit her. The first time, he went because it was their anniversary and he was so low he didn't think he could get much worse so he had visited her grave with her favourite flowers and a heavy heart. And he had cried over her gravestone for hours as he begged her to tell him why she had left him, why she had died. Draco received no answers that day but nevertheless visited the grave every year, her favourite flowers in his hands as he allowed himself to reminisce about the memories they made together, he made a promise to himself that this would be the only day of the year he would allow himself to think about her.

And even though the years went by, and he married and had children of his own he continued to visit the graveyard. And even though fewer people visited her grave, with less and less flowers being on her gravestone every passing year, Draco continued to visit her. Continued to love her. His one true love who left him too soon and the world too soon.

 **Thanks for reading everybody, this is one of the first stories I ever wrote, so please don't judge me if it is terrible! Please, please leave a review; I'd love to hear what you all thought of this story and I'm also very tempted to write another from the perspective of Hermione so let me know if that is something you would be interested in.**


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